Chapter XIX: Youth

Youth and its pensive agonies! How soon The restless heart forgets to crave the moon! Age is too weary for the butterflies-- Spring's rainbow radiance fluttering through sweet skies, Hope merrily deferred. We see the morn, We who are old, in shattered fragments. Scorn For laughter and for singing clouds our breast. Youth, take your fill of pleasure, for the rest Of Age is endless. Sing, nor grudge the song-- Youth is so short, and Age, quiet Age, so long!